Pride, Prejudice & "Fat Ham!"
To miss this comedy—at this time in our history—would be a tragedy
The Pulitzer Prize-winning play finishes its limited run on July 2nd
To see or not to see. That is the question—as the notions of visibility and self-love at the heart of the “Hamlet” reboot, “Fat Ham” feel even more resonant during Pride Month.
The production caps an exceptional Roundabout season—made all the more enjoyable with my twin brother, Chris (among others) for company. Though he has seriously stepped up his theater-going game, Chris smartly recognized that he does not share my innate ability to give in to the theater’s narrative constructs (and cited graphic novels as a form of storytelling to which I’m not naturally drawn).
Though a canny observation, no “affinity for the theater” alone could explain the disparity in our emotional states as the cast took their bows (Chris: Pleasantly entertained. Me: Completely and joyfully undone.) Now, as “Fat Ham”s final performance nears, I’m left wondering, “How do you explain it?”
Billed as a comedic and contemporary riff on “Hamlet,” “Fat Ham” shifts the action from a family castle to the family barbecue. Where Hamlet is a poster boy for heterosexual angst, Juicy is a “soft” young black “Momma’s boy” who is haunted (AND taunted) by his father, Pap’s, ghost, who derides him for pursuing an online degree in human relations. (“You going to school on a laptop!”) As in “Hamlet,” Pap has returned to seek revenge on his brother, Rev, who has committed fratricide to get his hands on Pap’s wife, Tedra, AND Juicy’s tuition money. And the societal cancer that Shakespeare hoped to alert his audience to is now the violence against Black men (“Cause this a tragedy,” says Juicy. “We tragic.”)
Juicy confronted by Pap’s ghost
Other parallels of character and plot are less rigid. Ophelia and Laertes are now Opal and Larry. Their father, Polonius is replaced by a bible-thumping mother named Rabby. Familiarity with Shakespeare’s text may add its own poetic pleasures. But enjoying “Fat Ham” is far from dependent on it. That’s not to say that the association with “Hamlet” is inconsequential. Playwright James Ijames has chosen the canon’s most unforgiving tale of violence to show that it is possible to reject it.
Shakespeare’s play follows Hamlet’s path from naiveté to a horrific awareness (if not embracing) of the world’s evils. And it is only in killing that he finds some sort of restorative balance. In “Fat Ham,” Juicy is aware of those evils from the start—but he finds his true power in refuting them. In choosing self-love over self-harm. And sympathy over slaughter.
It’s in this difference that the play finds a hero as unique and affecting as Shakespeare’s.
As familiar as Elizabethan audiences were with Hamlet’s oft-used “revenge” theme, it is still a play about the machinations of royal courts and kings (the “one percent” of Shakespeare’s time). But “Fat Ham” is the story of all of us. And while the effect of characters speaking directly to the audience may be lost on my brother, it is meant to remind us of that fact.
By resisting the cycle of inherited trauma, Juicy invites us all to imagine a world where toxic masculinity does not make us question our worth (if not our very sanity). A world where you can choose empathy over anger. Or in Tio’s (Horatio’s) words, "pleasure over harm.”
Critic Jesse Green’s inspired review noted that “Fat Ham” got “bigger” in multiple ways when transferring from the Public Theater to Broadway—even adding a confetti canon! (“Really, must we?” he said.) Yes, we must. If some of “Fat Ham’s” most affecting moments are reminiscent of a Pride parade, it’s no accident. Pride is all of us. And symbolic of the progress that arises out of hatred.
As “Pride” becomes big business, and homogenization dissolves the once protective neighborhoods that traditionally hosted Pride events, some might argue they are no longer necessary. But for those living in smaller, conservative communities, Pride is still the ONLY time of the year that they can be themselves in public. And as Drag Queens are demonized and legislators introduce over 130 bills to restrict LGBTQ rights, it’s critically important that everyone express their identity.
The fact that toxic masculinity fuels violence against the LGBTQ community need not be belabored here. Its energy is so ingrained as to go unnoticed. But when—in a packed theater—that energy is momentarily replaced by a shared, unselfconscious joy, it can’t help but be noticed by me (if not my straight brother).
To see this most bloody tale of male aggression end not with revenge… but rejoicing (by audience members of every race, age, and orientation) undid me. And as I looked around teary-eyed, this story of one man’s liberation felt like a liberation for all of us… if only for the duration of the curtain call.
Give me disco over death any day!